Daylight

The day was cold and sunny. The breeze played through the trees and birds sang. Looking up at the large brilliant blue sky Rodger Dunkard thought it a tragedy that today, of all days, should have so beautiful a visage. Dunkard looked down from the heavens to the terrestrial landscape around him, noted the ancient grave stones showing just above the over grown grass. Directly in front of him was his goal, the ancient crypt, it is unknown who was laid to rest within its stone walls or even what culture constructed the antique building, at least that was what he had been told. According to Vincent Ricard very little was known about this structure. A few writings had mentioned it but since there was nothing out of the ordinary no one had ever bothered to look into it in detail.

That was true at least until last week. On a dark and stormy night, it still struck Dunkard as a particularly bad choice to investigate so ancient a structure on such a foreboding night, Ricard and Sara Harper entered the structure and only Ricard returned. The police, of course, don't believe Ricard's tale. Dunkard couldn't say he did either, otherwise he wouldn't have come to this place. Dunkard, however, had known Ricard and Harper for years. Dunkard could not believe that Ricard had killed Harper, as the police insisted must have happened. Dunkard could not blame the police for that belief, Ricard's account was far too fantastic to believe.

Ricard and Harper had been on a trip to Ireland to study Irish folktales. They had heard of a strange divergence from standard Irish folktales around this area and had decided to come and speak to the locals about their ancient stories. The tales were far darker here than in the rest of Ireland. Tales about ghouls and demons and all kinds of unholy death. Dunkard didn't know anything about folktales and didn't care too. He had come across the Atlantic after Harper's disappearance and Ricard's arrest. Dunkard had met with Ricard at the jail and he recounted his strange tale but very little did he recount that had not been printed in the newspapers. It was getting a lot of press, none of it made Ricard look innocent. None of it made Ricard look sane.

Dunkard took a deep breath and approached the ancient building, the police tape was still up but no one was around to see Dunkard push it above his head and out of his way. All the trouble had happened almost two months ago, Dunkard couldn't have brought his guns with him on a plane so he had to find a captain that was willing to let him on without too many questions. A captain that had to let him get in a row boat a couple miles from shore to avoid any potential dock troubles.

It was a small building, just stone piled on top of each other as far as Dunkard could tell. The entrance was low and tight, Dunkard's large frame made it a difficult squeeze for him to get inside. The inside of the crypt was black, no light penetrated from the gay world on the far side of the stones. Dunkard stopped, still half way through the entrance. A noise had caught his notice. He listened and waited hoping for his eyes to adjust to the inky blackness. Nothing but the faint call of the birds outside did he hear and nothing but darkness did he see. He shook his head and muttered that he shouldn't let Ricard's insanity get to him.

He pushed the rest of the way into the small structure and only then did a small shaft of light penetrate into the ancient crypt. The small structure was nearly devoid of features. It struck Dunkard as odd that the inside of the crypt should be completely smooth when the outside looked like nothing so much as a pile of rocks. Three small tables still held three small skeletons. That they had been children Dunkard was certain of since they were no more than three feet tall. He did not look too closely at the tables, for it was the floor that was the reported entrance, it was the floor into which Harper, reportedly, disappeared.

According to Ricard when they had entered the crypt there had been a large circular open in the center, with stairs leading down into the bowels of the earth, as Ricard had described it. When the police had arrived there was no such opening. Dunkard as well did not see any such opening. Dunkard, however, knew Ricard. Insanity had never caught him before and Dunkard couldn't imagine such a feeble lie to be used by one such as Ricard. Dunkard studied the floor and saw, as the police had described, an elaborate carving in the floor. Starting at the three tables and weaving through the perfectly smooth floor moving to the very center of the perfectly circular room. The floor was completely clean. Even after all the centuries since this structure was built neither the floor nor walls showed the least bit of wear, no chips marred the pattern, no cracks gave testament to the age of the ancient structure.

Dunkard knelt on the floor to inspect the carvings in the floor. He turned on his head lamp, following the course from the center table towards the center of the room. He noticed that one channel was deeper than the rest, many lines came off of that median but none cut the stone nearly so deep. That median cut straight and did not twist and curve as the rest of lines, its angular nature standing out amongst the other twisting lines that covered the floor. It flowed straight toward the center of the floor where all of the lines converged. The deeper line did not quite reach the convergence. Just before that point it shallowed, no deeper than the rest of the bending lines upon the floor.

At the point of shallowing Dunkard saw a small hole, no larger than a pin going down into the depths. Ricard had said that the bodies upon the tables had not been skeletons, but fresh and bleeding, blood running down to the base of the tables and down into the open stairwell. This was not a crypt. It was an alter to some ancient and dark god that called for blood to be let. Walking to the tables he saw that the channel that he had followed did not start on the floor but at the very center of the ancient skeletons, over the edges of the tables and then following the course to the very brink of convergence. Each table followed this same pattern, many children must had died upon those ancient tables for the pleasure of some long forgotten god.

Dunkard took out his water bottle and poured some of it into each of the three small pin holes in the ground. Dunkard waited, anxious, fear building up in the back of his mind, his hand resting uneasily upon his gun. He waited and nothing occurred. He laughed softly at himself, for what could so ancient an architect have devised that a little water could rearrange the floor into a staircase. He stopped himself and he eyes traced their way back to the ancient tables with the child skeletons. Blood, he thought to himself, blood.

He looked around as if afraid someone might see him embarking on such a strange and lunatic course. Blood, he thought again, as he took out his knife and studied his palm, traced the lines upon his palm with the knife, then cut. It didn't hurt as much as he had expected but it did bleed. How much is enough however he couldn't know. He moved to the center of the room and let his blood fall onto that ancient floor. The first hold filled with blood, then the second. As his blood struck the final hole light began to pulse from the walls, the faint singing of the birds disappeared. Then blinding light struck him. He stood blind, a minute or an hour he couldn't know. The floor moved beneath him and he fell backwards his head striking one of the sacrificial tables.

Sound was the first sense to return, although he wished it hadn't. Screaming and inhumane laughter echoed up from an unknown distance below him. It was the sound that he had imagined would have been elicited from the unfortunate victims of some grotesque medieval torture.

Slowly his vision returned as well. The staircase that Ricard had spoken of now stood open before him. Ricard had told him that there had been creatures on the stairs, creatures that looked human but did not feel human. As Ricard and Harper had looked down the spiraling staircase, one of them had looked up and alerted the rest. The dark procession of the inhuman people turned had sprinted up the stairs with inhuman agility. Harper screamed and Ricard grabbed her to pull her back through the door. Far too quickly the inhuman robed figures reached the top of the stairs and moved out through the small entrance.

They had parked their car at the edge of the ancient burial grounds, it looked impossibly far away to Ricard. They ran, the inhuman foot steps pounding onto the ground behind them, growing ever closer to the pair. It was when they reached the car that they were set upon. Ricard was struck from behind and fell to the ground, Harper had saved him he said, guilt and remorse filling his eyes. He didn't know how but she knocked the aggressor back, when Ricard stood he saw her standing between him and the their inhuman attackers. She didn't turn she just said "Go." With a soft finality that didn't allow any argument.

Ricard left.

With great trepidation Dunkard slid over to the side of the deep stairwell. The sounds of screams and maniacal laughter echoed up from the imperceptible depths. No creatures, human or otherwise could he see upon the stairwell. He noted a small plate upon the side of the wall where he imagined the floor would have been the ceiling, three small hooks shaped like upward facing claws. Each claw had a small hole, no larger than a pin at the top of its base.

He slowly drew his gun and began to descend down into the depths of the earth. He moved as quickly as the narrow staircase would allow him to move quietly. He did not believe that he could be heard above the screams and laughter, but he certainly did not want to find out he was wrong.

The faint glow continued about him as he descended and he turned off his head lamp, the faint glow providing more than enough light to navigate the twisting staircase. The walls continued to be perfectly smooth, without any mark or imperfection to mar its surface. The bottom of the stairwell came into view, a small circular room, perfectly smooth, perfectly blank. One archway provided access to another room.

As Dunkard approached the final step the welcome but dreadful silence left a hole in his mind. No screams, no laughter. Silence. He edged cautiously towards the door, following the wall closely. Next to the door he took a deep, silent breath and then glanced around the corner, his gun in hand.

The room was simple, with unmarred walls and ceiling. The walls slowly curved into the ceiling, a perfect and flawless sphere cut in twain. The same light seemed to permeate throughout this room. In the center of the room lay a naked woman, breasts pushing up in quick frantic motions. A look of terror infused upon her face as she stared blankly into the ceiling.

"Sara," Dunkard said softly under his breath, then again more loudly "Sara!"

Dunkard moved towards her, his eyes looking around trying to find the source of that maniacal laughter that had filled the air all the way to the top of the stairs. No trace was there of anyone, anything else. No doors, no latches. Nothing. Just the smooth unending light filled walls. He holstered his weapon, knelt and picked Harper up, draping her over his should. Still she did not react. Her face frozen in unknown horror, her breathing short and frantic. Dunkard stood slowly and backed out of the room expectantly.

Nothing came, nothing happened. The room was impossibly still, its unchanging light showing that impossibly smooth wall. Turned and began walking up the spiraling staircase.

Up.

Then he started jogging, the oppressive silence broken by nothing but the short rapid breaths of the dead weight that had once been Harper.

Up.

The top of the stairs came into view running up the last few steps.

Darkness enveloped him. Total absolute darkness. The stairwell was gone along with its ire light. Dunkard reach up and turned on his head lamp. The sacrificial alter was just as it had been when he entered it. The knotted patterns on the floor, the ancient bones laying upon the three small sacrificial tables. There was no sign of the water or blood that he had poured upon the floor.

"Sara," he said to the living body that rested upon his shoulder. Once again only the rapid shallow breaths were given in response.

Dunkard shook his head, and moved to the exit, he arranged Harper in front of him, holding her around her naked flesh and squeezed through the narrow entrance trying not to hurt his friend of so many years.

Night had fallen while he was in that dark and impossible place. The moon was full and bright, a soft warm breeze met him as he exited the dreadful stone structure. The world was remarkably normal. The grass swayed gently amongst the tomb stones, the moon shown, the world was unchanged. Shifting Harper's weight back onto his shoulder he moved quickly towards his vehicle. He tripped on a hidden tomb stone. He dropped Harper amongst the tomb stones and cried out in pain and pushed himself up onto his knees.

Laughter echoed across the empty landscape. Maniacal and evil. Dunkard looked behind him, back towards that foreboding small building from which he had so recently escaped. He saw the still laughing eyes behind him peering out of the ancient structure.

It wasn't human. Not quite. It just wasn't right. The eyes too large, the nose too small, the mouth filled with teeth too pointed. It just wasn't, it wasn't right, it wasn't human. The figured stopped laughing, still smiling, too large to be human, its perfectly white teeth shining in the moon light. Dunkard stared in horror at the inhuman person, not moving, locked in horror. The inhuman person then waved and laughed again, louder, manically.

Dunkard stood quickly, grabbed Harper and threw her over his shoulder. He ran. Watching as well as he could through the irregular spaced graveyard. He came to his car, scrambled for his keys, unlocked his door and unceremoniously threw Harper into the passenger seat. He quickly got into the driver seat. He started the car and only then did he look behind him.

A quaint and quiet graveyard, grass blowing softly in the gentle breeze presented itself to his eyes. Everything was normal, everything was at peace.

The only noise he heard was the soft purr of the engine and the short, rapid, insistent breathing of Sara. Her eyes still staring straight in front of her, her face still locked in horror.